


they've forgotten, forgotten how to sing

by notavodkashot



Series: words are futile devices [13]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Cor just wants to make sure Noct is happy, Family Feels, Family of Choice, Gen, dad!Cor week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:46:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27108181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notavodkashot/pseuds/notavodkashot
Summary: Strictly speaking, Cor is neither Noctis' dad noractuallyhis uncle, but he excels at both when it really matters.Fills for the dad!Cor week, set inthe sun is out, the day is newcontinuity. As per twitter request, all involving Cor being a Dad to Noct (but Prompto will show up as well).
Series: words are futile devices [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/852660
Comments: 83
Kudos: 114
Collections: Dad Cor Week 2020





	1. rescue

* * *

_i. rescue_

* * *

“Do _not_ even start to derail me,” Aulea snarled, blue eyes sharp and teeth bared, and it didn’t matter she was wearing the finest silk, she looked every bit as Cor remembered her, back when they were free to wreak havoc in the field. 

In his crib, wrapped up in silk and linen and all sorts of fancy embroidered baby clothes – none of which Aulea had had any say or hand in, as a matter of fact – the young Prince let out his perpetual loud, air-siren wail of despondent woe. Sylvia Stella Aurum, favorite cousin of the King, Head of the Royal Household and rumored Living Avatar of Leviathan, twitched with the urge to step in and pick up the boy to soothe his cries. Aulea shifted her footing and stood in the way, eyes narrowed. 

“We’re not done,” she said, and went on ignoring the shrill screaming from her son. 

Cor stood in the sidelines, forever a shadow painted on the walls, trailing after the Queen, and took in the scene the same way he used to study battlefields before throwing himself head first into them. They couldn’t be more different from each other, the Queen and the Ocean. Sylvia was short and slight and perpetually covered in gold and white, denouncing the fact she had no claim to royal blood almost like a taunt. Her blond hair was carefully braided into a suitable canvas where she hung all the jewels and trinkets Regis’ mother had left behind for her. Aulea wore black, solid and uncompromising, her dresses forever simple and straightforward, for all she complained about how restrictive they were. She wore what was expected of her: her circlet and her rings and the bangles in her wrists, but not a single thing more. She jiggled wherever she went, and hated it so much she’d learned to use it to her advantage – Aulea always found a way to use everything to her advantage – and the only positive thing she could say about the ridiculous length of her skirts was the fact they often hid away the combat boots she kept stealing away from Cor. 

“Stop being a child, _your majesty_ ,” Sylvia snapped, lips twitching in disdain. “You’re the mother of the future King, you should—" 

“Stop being a _cunt_ , then,” Aulea snapped right back. 

The atmosphere in the room grew tenser and tenser, silence stretching like the concussive force of a mortar shell hitting the ground. Sylvia’s expression darkened with flushed fury, just as Aulea tilted her chin back, defiant. In the crib, the boy continued to scream. 

Cor made his move. 

It wasn’t as hard as he’d thought it’d be, stepping away from the wall – from his place, as dictated by law and protocol – and walking behind Aulea towards the crib. He saw Aulea’s eye twitch and knew she knew what he was doing, but she didn’t immediately try to stop him, so he ducked his head slightly and carried on like this was nothing out of the ordinary. It wasn’t, really. Cor had plenty of practice by then, looking after his nephew, another duty carelessly placed in his hands by Aulea and her inexcusable moods. The fact Sylvia was there to watch and judge and make him pay for it later was a novelty, but he was used to being the Ocean’s favorite chew toy. She’d never forgiven him the great crime of not getting himself killed, and he reckoned she wasn’t likely to let him forget it any time soon. He bundled the screaming child up in his blankets, and pulled him up into his arms. One hand on his back, holding his weight, the other on the back of his head, keeping him upright. The boy quieted immediately, the way he always did when he was placed in Cor’s arms. 

He walked out of the room without looking back, and only stopped to consider he didn’t know where to go once he was firmly outside the Queen’s quarters. His gut said he should find Regis – Cor always deferred to Regis, when he couldn’t defer to Aulea – but it was almost noon and he knew for a fact Regis was busy entertaining his Council. He’d gained a lot of power and sway with the Court, in the years while Cor was away massacring people in his name, but Cor reckoned it would not be wise to compromise that by putting a baby in his arms. And he would, Cor reckoned, take his son in his arms and derail his meetings for the chance to play and look after him. Regis loved his son, truly. 

But then Sylvia would be ticked, of course, and it would only be a matter of time before she found a way to make them pay for it. Cor didn’t care much, he was used to her hating him on principle. But Regis loved her dearly and took every bit of chiding to heart, and Aulea would be ticked in turn, which would only escalate things. 

No, someone had to sensible. 

“We’re kind of fucked,” Cor informed his charge, shifting him until he was holding him in one arm so he could slide the keycard to open the nearest lift, “if I’m the one supposed to be sensible.” 

Noctis Lucis Caelum, all of three months old, mouthed furiously against the collar of his innermost shirt and did his best to leave a glorious spit puddle against Cor’s collarbone. By the time Cor walked out of the lift, the wet spot was on the cusp of reaching his navel and the absolute nightmare gremlin of a child was giggling in delight. Cor walked into his room in the barracks – he couldn’t take the Crown Prince to his office, Monica would skin him alive – and sat on the small bed, unsure what to do next. In regular rescue operations, he was expected to pass on the rescue-es to someone who knew how to deal with them. This, he concluded, was a very poorly thought out op, since he’d completely fudged his exit strategy. Noctis didn’t seem to care, having tired of leaving spit and snot all over Cor’s shirt, and instead having fallen asleep in Cor’s arms, with little regard to what Cor might want to do with those arms in the near future. 

Cor kept that in mind when, a week later, Sylvia descended on him like a cloud of locusts and succinctly informed him he was no longer allowed to live in the barracks. 

It helped, a little. 


	2. first day of school

* * *

_ii. first day of school_

* * *

“Cor?” 

Cor looked up from the veritable jungle of paperwork Monica was somehow expecting him to hand in eventually, and trailed his eyes over the large carpet that dominated most of the floor of his office. There, amidst what looked like an explosion of crayons, colors and paints, laid Prompto, fast asleep as he always was, come four. Decidedly not asleep – also as he was wont to be – was the Crown Prince of Lucis, sitting in the middle of his own art supply ground zero. Cor studied the hunched shoulders and the bitten lower lip and then sighed, loud enough to be heard, as he leaned back and pushed the chair a few crucial inches away from the desk. 

Noctis scurried over without even bothering to ask, feet silent – Cor did not allow himself to even wonder if such things could be inherited or not, much like he did not allow himself to speak about Lucis’ Queen or all the things Noctis had clearly not gotten from his father or his grandfather – and came to stand by Cor’s side, arms raised so Cor could dutifully pick him up and sit him on his thigh. The boy swung his feet, testing the balance, even though Cor kept a hand on his back to make sure he didn’t fall. 

Then he was quiet, for a long time, as he figured out his words. 

Sylvia had worried that Noctis did not speak enough, until Cor pointed out he spoke plenty when they were alone. Cor did not think too much why that had been enough for Sylvia to stop fretting, although he could divine the shape of it. Sylvia had been an entirely different person, when he’d come home with Nyx and Prompto in tow, and the only reasonable explanation was the fact Aulea was gone by then. There was something in the way Sylvia looked at him these days, pity and regret mixed with something almost like good will, that Cor tried his best to not give her reason to seek him out. He tried, anyway. 

Just like he tried his best to give Noctis whatever he needed, and very often also what he wanted. It was no small feat, being Lucis’ Crown Prince. Cor had seen what the weight of that title had done to Regis, the choices Mors had made for the sake of keeping his son safe. He had little to offer to the boy, that wasn’t somehow tainted by lies and misconceptions, but he figured he might as well try to be the only person who never asked anything of him, that he wasn’t willing to give. 

“School starts tomorrow,” Noctis said, at length, bouncing one foot against Cor’s ankle and decidedly not looking at him. 

“Yes,” Cor said, because he’d spent two months screening the security detail that would ensure the Prince could go to school outside the Citadel. 

That had been a spectacular row between Sylvia and Regis and the foolish councilmen who thought they stood a chance. Cor did not dare presume to tell his King what he should do, much less how to raise his son: his only job was to make sure it happened. Still, breaking with tradition – Princes and Princesses were homeschooled in the Citadel and had been for generations, until Regis said no more – involved a good deal of planning and logistics and endless meetings where all he did was sit in a corner in silence and gauge people’s characters from how terrified they were, when they realized who he was. 

“Prompto is _also_ starting school,” Noctis went on, though his voice lowered some more, like he was confiding a secret. 

Which, Cor reckoned, he probably was. 

“Yes.” 

“But it’s not the same school,” Noctis said, unable to not pout and frown as he turned to look up at Cor from under his bangs. 

“No,” Cor replied, “it is not.” 

Noctis swallowed hard. 

“Why?” 

“Because…” Cor began, and then stopped, considering. “Prompto is Galahdian,” Cor said after a moment, nodding to himself, “and you are the Crown Prince.” 

“That’s dumb,” Noctis said, frowning imperiously in a way that broke Cor’s heart into itty bitty pieces and then ground them under the heel of the shoes Aulea always refused to wear. “He’s my best friend!” 

“You’re loud,” Prompto said, sitting on the carpet with drool crusted down the side of his mouth and his hair in artistic disarray. 

Then he yawned so wide Noctis giggled, and scurried over to climb over Cor’s free thigh without any of Noctis’ restraint. He burrowed against Cor’s side like he belonged there – he did, _he did_ , Cor was liable to fight whoever needed fighting, to make it clear – and stuck out his tongue at Noctis. Noctis reacted as expected, sticking out his own tongue and clinging harder to Cor. 

“Sometimes the people you love most are very different from you,” Cor said, when they’d finished settling down. “And that’s okay.” 

“But we can be friends, right?” Noctis insisted, “even if we’re different?” 

“I don’t know,” Cor replied, eyebrows arched. “Can you?” 

“ _D’uh_ ,” Prompto said, and reached out to nudge Noctis’ leg with his own, the impression of a kick more than anything else. “We’re going to be friends forever.” 

Cor did not tell them forever wasn’t real. He wasn’t even part of the conversation anymore, really. He was just the convenient chair they’d chosen to bicker about things, and later, fall asleep on. He didn’t mind it all that much, much the same way he’d never minded being useful to those he loved. 

The paperwork did not get done, either, but he supposed it wasn’t that much of a loss. 


	3. driving lessons

* * *

_iii. driving lessons_

* * *

“I didn’t actually mean it,” Noctis said, sitting in the driver’s seat of Cor’s car, holding onto the wheel and staring at the empty street with something like panicked trepidation. 

“I know,” Cor replied, sitting in the passenger’s seat, arms folded and posture as relaxed as he could manage with his fourteen-year-old charge behind the wheel. 

Noctis was small for his age, but at least, Cor reckoned, he could reach the pedals and see over the dashboard at the same time. Cor had learned to drive while balancing that handicap, plus the occasional MT platoon trying their very best to shoot whatever he happened to be driving into a colander. Then he’d _actually_ learned how to drive, the rules and the tricks and the whole nine yards, in Insomnia proper and under the patient tutelage of the King’s Shield, who was cynical enough to point out Cor had to get better at driving, considering he was too drunk to drive them back home. 

Noctis was silent for a moment, processing the fact Cor was apparently willing to indulge his requests even when he clearly did not mean them. 

There was a lesson in that, and he was smart enough to intuit the shape of it, if not the full nuance. Cor let him stew on it for a while longer, because in his experience, the truly important lessons in life had to be figured out by one’s self, they couldn’t be read in a book or listened to during a lecture. He was shit at lecturing, anyway, as Nyx was prone to taunt him about every time their daughter set something on fire, metaphorically or otherwise. 

“Your car is weird,” Noct pointed out, squinting at the pedals like one would a lake known to be full of sahagin. “It’s got an extra pedal.” 

“It’s not weird,” Cor replied, ignoring the flare of an unnamed emotion in his chest as he realized Noctis did not share Regis’ vice for all things motorized, “it’s a manual transmission. Automatic is standard for Citadel vehicles.” 

Noctis was not Regis. Or his mother. Or his grandfather. Or anyone else in that sprawling spiderweb he called a family: Noctis was Noctis and he liked what he liked and hated what he hated, all on his own and for his own reasons. He liked fishing and videogames and to make people smile. He hated vegetables and bullies and cruelty of any kind. He was his own person and Cor was willing to do many, many things for the sake of making sure he got enough space to figure out exactly what that meant. 

“Shouldn’t I learn on an automatic one, then?” Noctis asked, with that hesitant tilt to his voice that meant he _thought_ that was a stupid question, but he’d long learned it was better to still ask those anyway, at least as far as Cor was concerned. “Since it’s the standard?” 

“No,” Cor replied, with a little shrug. “Automatic is easier.” 

Noctis rolled his eyes dramatically and then let his head fall forward until he banged his forehead on the wheel. 

“ _Cor_.” 

“Noctis,” Cor replied, in perfect deadpan, and even managed to contain the twitch at the corner of his lip. 

“You’re a terrible person,” Noctis said, shaking his head and sitting up properly. “I hope you know.” 

“Yes,” Cor said, utterly unmoved. 

“The very worst,” Noctis insisted, and then sighed. “Fine. What’s my measure of success?” 

Cor allowed himself a small smile. 

“Turn it on.” 

Cor was rather proud it only took Noct an hour to ask for his first hint. 


	4. playdate

* * *

_iv. playdate_

* * *

Upon his return to Insomnia from his rather unexpected and obnoxiously extended venture into Gralea, Cor found himself in the receiving end of Noctis’ wounded worry. It ate at Cor in a way few things did, when he clung to his side and cried a good twenty minutes when he saw him again. Regis teased him about spoiling his son, and Sylvia informed him the Crown Prince was in fact capable of walking by his own power, but Cor reckoned it was permissible to indulge him. A little bit. 

And then the next Tuesday came, and Regis got swamped by his Council, so Cor found himself alone with his nephew for approximately four or five hours. 

“Where are we going?” Noct asked, hoisted in Cor’s arms as they rode the elevator down to the parking lot. 

“Out,” Cor said, one eyebrow arched at the inquiry. 

Noctis frowned. 

“Going out is forbidden,” he said, squinting suspiciously in a way Cor would never admit he hoped he’d learned from him. 

“On your own, yes,” Cor replied, “but you’re not going out on your own today.” 

“Oh,” Noctis said, just as the lift doors opened, “okay.” 

Then it was just a matter of putting the boy in the backseat of the car – and ignore the whining about wanting to sit on the front – and then Cor was out braving Insomnia’s lunch hour traffic jam – there was a traffic jam every other hour, but he wasn’t the sucker responsible for fixing that and he’d rather not bring it up lest Regis decided to add that to the list of titles he seemed to delight on shoving at him. He kept an eye on the back of the car, as Noct leaned against the windows and stared at everything passing by, utterly entranced by the world that looked rather differently from up close, than he was used to. 

“Where are we going?” Noct asked again, almost an hour later, when he’d grown bored of watching passing cars and he was twitching restlessly in his seat. 

“To meet a friend,” Cor replied, as he turned away from the highway towards smaller, less trafficked roads. 

“Prompto?” Noctis asked hopefully, immediately perking up. 

It made Cor smile, despite himself. 

“No,” he said, amused, “a new friend.” 

Noctis sat in silence for a moment, contemplating what could that mean, as Cor finally reached their destination. Noctis stalled on his seat before exiting the car, and then decided not to ask Cor to carry him, after all. He grabbed onto Cor’s hand as they started down the gravel road, and he kicked the little red pebbles, giggling when a miniature dust could emerged from them. Then they reached the crest of the small hill and the sprawling pond came into view. Noct twitched with the urge to fling himself down the distance to the shore and the long pier, but he contained himself, in no small part because Cor squeezed his hand warningly. Still, he was all but vibrating in place as they approached, not the water, but an old man standing between them and the pond, back bent forward and weight supported by a cane. 

“Noctis,” Cor said, voice soft as he let go of the small hand to place his own on his head, “this is Luca.” 

Noctis blinked up at the man, blue eyes bright, and approached him slowly, cautiously. Cor watched Luca’s face twist up as his eyes filled out with tears as he sank down to one knee to be properly eye-level with the young Prince. 

“Hello,” Noctis said, small and unsure. “You’re crying.” 

“Hello,” Luca replied, hastily wiping a hand over his face. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry, you’re just. I’ve just been very excited to meet you.” He sniffled loudly and then offered a shaky smile. “Would… would you like to sit with me? By the pond?” Luca looked up at Cor. “I brought lunch.” 

Noctis mimicked the look, still cautious, but not quite reluctant. 

“Can I?” 

“If Luca promises to share a good story along with lunch,” Cor said, nodding. “He’s very good at stories.” 

Noctis’ eyes lit up as he turned around to reassess the old man. 

“I _love_ stories,” he inform him, with all the determination of a four-year-old, and a Lucis Caelum to boot. 

“I shall do my utmost, Your Highness,” Luca said, wet and raw and sincere, and then laughed when Noctis giggled, surprised. 

And that, Cor reckoned, watching Lucius Amicitia, erstwhile Shield of the Hollow King, Mors Lucis Caelum, retell war stories spun into fantastical fables, was one debt, at long last, repaid. 


	5. graduation

* * *

_v. graduation_

* * *

“You don’t normally speak up at court,” Noct said, sitting on the edge of the balcony, feet swinging as he stared up, away from the view of Insomnia’s skyline, towards the tip of the Citadel. 

It was a long drop, if he lost his balance, but for all the young prince was patently _bad_ at using magic offensively, he was dexterous in warping in ways that shamed both his father and his grandfather. So Cor wasn’t particularly worried about him sitting there, or what would happen to him if he fell – he ignored the screech of Clarus’ imagined lecturing in the back of his head – if anything, it’d be a learning experience. Anything that didn’t outright kill you, Cor reckoned, could be a very good learning experience. 

“Mm,” Cor replied, with a one-shoulder shrug for emphasis. 

The Lord Protectors of the Land were the highest-ranking offices in Regis’ court, and the Lord Protector of Cavaugh traditionally carried even higher rank, by virtue of their ownership of Insomnia’s land. Cor knew Regis had given him the title for pretty much the same reason he’d made him Marshal of the Crownsguard and Voice of the King: because Cor detested titles and court games and would not actually _use_ those titles. Cor had always assumed those titles would die with him, since he had no family to speak up, when they were given to him, and then Noctis would be allowed to pass them on to people he wanted. 

Instead, these days he had an heir – the aptly named Dragon of Keycatrich, they called her, and Aranea delighted in reminding people she had not earned that title by her _politics_ – all official and legal and stuff, and all his household and titles would go to her, whenever he did manage to find something mean enough he couldn’t kill. And neither Noctis nor Aranea seemed at all bothered by the idea of her serving him the same way Cor served Regis… minus all the heartbreak and nonsense that they were all blissfully unaware of and Cor would rather never came up at all. 

He had, he realized with mounting horror sometimes, when he woke up at three in the morning and not even the sound of Nyx’s snoring could lull him back to sleep, started a fucking dynasty. 

Fuck. 

“It means a lot to me,” Noctis shrugged, carefully not looking at him, “that you spoke up.” 

And oh, Cor had spoken up. Short and sharp as most of his public statements were, but there was an edge to this particular one, that had all of a sudden reminded the entirety of Regis’ court that he _chose_ not to exercise his power in the court, and they would do well not to challenge him to. It had worked out rather well, all things considered, given that Cor had not meant to speak up at all. But it galled him, to listen to old, crusty idiots who knew nothing of Noctis’ temperament and goals and personality, making assumptions and treating him like he was the sort of combative asshole Cor had been when he’d been eighteen, and furious with it, as opposed to… well, the subdued, composed and generally well-meaning person Noctis had somehow managed to grow into, despite the odds. There wasn’t a single mean bone in the kid’s body and he was ever so keenly, terribly aware of his responsibilities, always. He was top of his class, even as he whined about homework and wanting instead to play videogames. He was smart and sensible and _good_ , and if he wanted to take off a year or two before going to college, so he could instead focus better on his duties to the crown? Cor was fucking infuriated by the implication this was a ruse to let him slack off. 

And if he wanted to take two years off and do fucking nothing, he could have. He was eighteen years old and for all anyone else knew, he had the rest of his life ahead of him. They were at peace. _It didn’t matter_. 

Of course, Cor knew exactly how much it didn’t matter and the _real_ reason why it didn’t matter, but he was far less charitable than Regis and infinitely less diplomatic than Clarus. So he’d told the court to go fuck themselves in not so many words, and they’d been all too flustered by it to really argue the point. 

“You know what it means, though, right?” Noctis asked, turning to face Cor with a mischievous look on his face. 

“That you’re going to get paid for the time you spend napping in my office?” Cor deadpanned, eyebrows arched. 

Noctis burst out laughing. 

“Cor! You’re supposed to let me have the punchline!” 

Cor shrugged, a twitch of a smile pulling at his lips. 


	6. pranks

* * *

_vi. pranks_

* * *

“Now, it’s very important that you don’t cut through the whole thing,” Cor explained patiently to his audience, “otherwise it won’t work.” 

He had the very ornate Chair of the Shield – that was how it was lodged in the inventory for the room, with capital letters and everything, it was apparently two hundred years old and a national treasure or some shit – propped on its side on the floor, resting atop a tarp to catch the sawdust from where he was very carefully and methodically sawing off the back legs. Not all the way through, of course, but only until there was about maybe a sixteenth of an inch of solid wood left, connecting the leg with the rest of the chair. Then he filled the gap with sawdust, packing it tight so it didn’t look suspicious at all. 

“See?” Cor said, after he was done, raising the chair – it was heavy, sure, but not something Cor couldn’t handle, “you can barely see the cut.” 

Sitting on the edge of the Council Table – also how it was lodged in the inventory, a six-hundred-year-old relic of marble, gold and ivory – the young Prince sat, legs swinging as he worked to demolish the enormous sundae that they had ostensibly gone out to get and which served as Cor’s alibi for his actions, which were, strictly speaking, treason. Technically. 

“Now we just put it back in place,” Cor went on, carefully placing the chair back where he’d found it, tucked neatly alongside the others around the table, “and no one will ever know we were here.” 

Noctis nodded solemnly as Cor went about folding the tarp around his tools, and then yeeting the whole thing into the depths of the armiger. He then giggled when Cor picked him up and headed, not towards the door, but rather the secret passage behind a large painting at the opposite side of the room. The Citadel had been rebuilt, during Mors’ reign, designed and tailored to the tastes of Regis’ mother, and as such, despite the modern structure, there were a near infinite number of side passages all over the place. Cor reckoned he knew a good deal of them, but he doubted there was anyone alive who knew _all_ of them. 

So far, he’d only shared the ones that looped back into other floors of the Citadel, but once Noctis grew up a little more, he should also know the ones that led outside. 

“So,” Cor said, as they walked into his office so he could casually delete the video footage of his actions before anyone noticed it, “what have we learned today?” 

“Revenge should be swift and merciless!” Noctis replied, face covered in ice-cream and chocolate syrup, though Cor doubted he knew what the words themselves meant. 

He placed the boy in the floor of his office and summoned the bag of emergency art supplies he’d taken to keep in the depths of the armiger for situations such as this. 

“Exactly.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Come hang out on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/notavodkashot), if you'd like.


End file.
